Our Colors
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: America and England have been together for years, but today England wants to try something different. He wants to love every single inch of America's beautiful body. Yes, it has smut. Several rounds of it. Enjoy. Deannon from Kinkmeme. 2 shot.
1. Chapter 1

'Nother DeAnnon here. Prompt was body worship and finding loads of sensitive spots. Bonuses for teasing, a romantic setting, and several rounds. I have all three, but you're gonna have to wait for the rest of the rounds because there was no way I was getting that much done in one weekend, espeically when I'm stressed out with homework because the end of the year is coming up. Hopefully second half will be out next weekend.

But still, there is smut, so enjoy you perverts~

* * *

><p>"I-I want to try something new tonight," England said, pulling out of the steamy kiss that he had been sharing with America a moment before.<p>

"What?" the younger nation asked, laughing, "You, stuffy old England, wanna experiment?"

England rolled his eyes, "It's not like I'm a prude, you know." A thought visibly crossed his mind and he smirked, "And you _would _know, wouldn't you, love?"

"Oh, you know I do," America gave England a grin that was positively hungry and dropped his suitcase on the bland upholstery of his boyfriend's couch.

Truth be told, it seemed like it was going to develop into a very, _very _good night. He had barely gotten into the confines of the Brit's _reasonable _car ("It's not small, dammit. I don't care what kind of tanks you drive at your house, but here in Europe we don't feel the need to prove we're men." "That's 'cause you're all seriously gay." "So says the man who begged me to bend him over the counter right before I left the last time I came to visit." At that point America had just rolled his eyes and gotten into the thing since England had kind of had a point and America didn't want to admit it) before the two had started kissing like a pair of teenagers who had to have the minivan back to mom by eleven. At every stoplight, and even at some points when they were just cruising, England seemed to think that his car was still a stick shift and America had to gently steer the older man's hand away from Florida. By the time that they had reached the Brit's old townhouse, which he had probably lived in since before there was a town for the house to be in, America could almost smell the way that England wanted to screw him. True to his predictions, the second the door was closed the younger nation found himself pinned against it with his boyfriend plunging his tongue inside to harshly claim every inch. And now, true to form, England pretty much said out loud that he wanted him naked _now_.

America cracked his neck and the Brit winced in obvious disgust. Oops. Oh well, America put up with the way that his lover had a tendency to recite poetry as pillow talk even when they had just gone several rounds and the younger nation just wanted a nap, so England could put up with him cracking his joints.

"So what were ya thinkin', babe?" America asked, looping his arms back around England's neck.

"It's a surprise," The older nation said, blushing.

"Oh, is it?" Aw man, if England couldn't even say it, it was going to be unfathomably hot, "Well, you know how much I hate waiting. Let's go see what it is!" He reached over to loosen England's tie.

However, England caught his hands before they made contact with the silk and scowled.

"Learn patience, you impudent child. It's not time yet." He said, gently lowering his arms so that their hands were clasped at a relaxed height.

America pouted, and pulled his hands out of his boyfriend's grip "But _England," _America whined in a way that was certainly very manly, thank you, "I'm horny _now_!"

"You're _always_ horny."

America pouted more deeply and scrunched his forehead to make the sad puppy look that England could never turn down, "But now I'm _extra_ horny."

England sighed, "Alright,"

America smiled.

"We'll compromise."

Dammit. Well, that didn't mean he had to give up yet.

"I'll buy you dinner."

Hmm. That changed things. How many red-blooded American men could choose between good food and good sex with the person they loved the most? Wait… for that to be a dilemma _good _food was necessary and he wasat England's house, "Wait a sec, where's this food coming from?"

England looked at him as though he was an idiot who missed something obvious. You know, the way he always looked at America, "Well, I was just assuming that you'd want to pick up some of those vile hamburgers you adore so much and there are a few places I know of where I could get some beef stew to go."

America could feel his eyes start sparkling and a grin spread across his face. But still, this could be some elaborate joke, "You're not joshin' me, right?"

"I'm not _what_?"

"Joshin'. You're not just messing with me?"

England sighed, "You and your bloody slang. But yes, America, if that's what you'd like, I'll take you to McDonalds."

"Oh man, England, I love you _so _much right now!" He wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller frame.

"Yes, yes," England said, "Now, I'll take your things up to the bedroom. Why don't you wait here and reacquaint yourself with my house?"

"What's there to reacquaint with? I know this place like the back of my hand since you're all stuck in your old man ways and never move anything. Yeah, it smells like old books and icky tea and a little bit like dust, but so do you and I kinda had your tongue in my mouth for the past couple a minutes, so I think we're cool."

England just rolled his eyes and took America's suitcase upstairs.

The younger nation waited until his boyfriend was out of sight before flopping down in England's favorite armchair. He buried his face in the cushion on the backrest and inhaled deeply. He smiled; it of course had England's sent all over it. America would never admit it, but he could never get enough of the smell. Yeah, he _did _smell like all the stuff America had listed, but he also smelled like the sea that surrounded him, the forests and fields that covered him, and another scent that America could never really identify. He always wanted to call it "safety" or "comfort" or something like that, but obviously those kinds of intangibles didn't have odors. However, he didn't think that he could explain that to his boyfriend without being teased or laughed at. England just wasn't the romantic type. Taking America out to get McDonald's even though he himself hated it was the closest that the Brit got.

It was then that America heard England returning, if the creeks of the old, loved floorboards were any indication. The younger man turned around and slumped over in the chair, as though he had just thrown himself down without caring where his limbs fell. When the other nation caught sight of him he scowled.

"Really, America? I leave for two minutes and you throw yourself all over my favorite chair? You'd think that someone so hyperactive would be willing to stand for more than a few seconds!"

"Yeah, yeah, bite me." America stood up and pretended to brush some lint off of his jacket.

"Have some manners for once in your life! I'm taking you out to get a heart attack on a bun, you know."

"Only one? You know I can take five, no prob."

"Yes, and I'm constantly mystified that you haven't gotten so fat that you can't walk."

"It's all about balance." America said, calmly explaining, "Japan tells me that a lot: that you gotta have balance in your life. So I can totally eat burgers all the time if I spend three hours at the gym every day to work off all the calories."

England rolled his eyes, "I could explain everything wrong with that statement, but we'd be here until it was too late to eat _or _have sex, so let's just go."

America beamed, "Yeah! Free food for the win!"

England opened the door and stomped out, muttering something that sounded a lot like, "At least he didn't just say the first letters like last time," Which only made America smile wider.

Since they'd picked up food from two different places, the pair returned to England's house and ate at his kitchen table. The older nation's food didn't look anywhere near as awesome as burgers, but it wasn't as off-putting to be near as anything that he would have made himself and thanks to the massive corporate control of everything in the world America's multiple Big Macs were almost as good as the ones back home, so it was okay. His coke tasted really, really weird though. It must have had something to do with the pain-in-the-ass standards that all the Europeans had with food. Come on, it wasn't like _America _was gonna get cancer.

But beyond the somewhat odd burgers and really messed up soda, there was something even more unusual. England was looking at him funny. He was twitching and looked all nervous. America wondered what was in store. It probably had to do with the surprise that he had mentioned earlier, which, along with the furious blushing, probably meant that whatever-it-was was gonna be sweet. America happily munched on his not-quite-as-good burgers, glad not only that there was gonna be awesome sex sometime soon but that there was food to keep him busy until the time came.

Unsurprisingly, America finished before England. He threw away the bag with all the wrappers in it and came back to sit opposite of his boyfriend. However, before he got his butt back in the seat, England told him to stop.

"What?" The younger blond asked.

"Go get ready. Everything's in the bathroom where it always is. Come into the bedroom when you're done; I'll be waiting."

America pouted, not willing to show that he was excited to finally be getting laid, "Don't you usually help me with that?"

"Yes, but you're a big boy now. I would assume that if you're adult enough to be the only super power in the world, you can get yourself ready for a shag without my assistance."

America rolled his eyes, "It's not that I _can't. _It's that you usually _do." _

"I do. Tonight is different." He lifted another spoonful of what was probably secretly toxic waste to his mouth.

The larger nation sighed. He could sense that there was no way he was going to win this particular argument, and the longer he tried in vain the longer he had to wait until he had mind-blowing sex. He ascended the stairs and closed himself in the bathroom attached to England's bedroom.

Honestly, he hated this part. Getting ready to England's standards took the romance out of the act once they finally got to it, and he just plain felt unattractive a lot of the time while he was preping. America understood why it was important, but it didn't mean that it wasn't still a drag, especially since England insisted on some extra steps that weren't necessary, such as taking a full shower. England's nitpickiness and America's reluctance were the main reason that the two of them very rarely had actual intercourse, choosing other ways to get off with each other. However, England obviously had a plan tonight, so America would go along with it. Even if it meant that he had to go through the entire ritual of getting ready to "have his vital regions invaded," as Prussia liked to put it constantly during their late-night Xbox Live sprees.

After what felt like forever, he was finally undressed, showered, and had taken care of all the other nitty-gritty stuff. As he grabbed the doorknob and turned, he hoped that it would be worth it.

The first thing that he noticed was that it was a hell of a lot darker than the well-lit bathroom, but what light there was was a far warmer hue. America exited and flicked the lights off behind him. It was blurry without Texas, but soon his eyes adjusted to the light and he was able to tell that the room was pretty different from the last time he'd been in it.

Candelabras were all over the place. There was one on each of the two matching bedside tables, two on England's desk in the corner, three on the dresser, and a few on top of the multitude of bookshelves that held the manuscripts England loved the most. Each one held three candles: one red, one blue, and a white one on the center prong. There was very soft music playing in the background, a flute and a harp from the sound of it. And then there in the middle of the room, drawing him in like a cat to a beam of sunlight, was England's massive king-size bed. America could tell that the sheets themselves were a royal blue, the color that England usually slept with, but the quilt on top seemed to be flecked with red and white.

Not quite believing it, the blond took a couple of steps forwards until he was right next to the bed. He leaned down and very gently, almost fearing that this was all an illusion, picked up what sure as hell looked like a rose petal. It felt like one too: all soft and silky.

It was a lot to take in for the young nation. Here was the bedroom that was usually so bland done up like something straight out of the cheesiest, most romantic movie in Hollywood. It was beautiful, it was perfect. It made his chest feel tight when he realized that England had done this for him, all for him. Even if the room wasn't bathed in America's colors (although in all fairness they were England's colors too) just the candlelight, the music, and the rose petals would have been enough to prove that the Brit had done this solely for his lover. England was always perfectly content to make love anywhere private; America knew that all that mattered to him was the emotions that they exchanged, even if he never said so. He thought that it was too much work to properly romance someone, even if he still required such exaggerated prep beforehand. America was the one who loved the glamour, the art in the actual act.

This wasn't like the Brit. No matter how the man felt deep in his heart, he'd never show it like this. He'd show it in smaller ways: by always having coffee in his kitchen and the bubblegum toothpaste that America loved so much in his bathroom, by randomly leaning on America's shoulder when they were just sitting together, by kissing chastely and holding hands after they made love. If there was one thing that England wasn't, it was blatant with his affections. To see that he had acted out and actually put all of this together…

There was the click of a light switch and a creek of a door closing.

America turned to look back. England was sanding there, just as naked as he was. His face was a light shade of pink, colored by embarrassment. One hand still rested on the knob of the bathroom door. He was worrying at his lower lip.

"You did this," America said.

"I did," England started to fidget with the door's trim.

"Why?" America asked. He regretted it almost as soon as the word left his mouth. It would sound like an accusation, like he wasn't grateful that England would work this hard for him. Green eyes flashed up to meet blue, but he continued to bite at his lip.

"I…" His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, unable to say it.

America was just quiet. England took time to actually spit things out, that was one of the first things that the younger nation had learned dating England. He tried to keep his gaze level and not push his boyfriend one way or another.

"Do you like it?" The older man finally asked.

He looked so small right now. England wasn't really short, and even though he was slim he wasn't scrawny. And yet, in spite of that, right then he seemed positively tiny. He looked vulnerable standing there stark naked and looking at America, silently pleading, just pleading, for approval. Well, like Hell America wasn't gonna give it to him.

"I love it, England," He couldn't help but smile, "But I gotta know why you're doing this; it's not like you."

England visibly steeled his resolve and strode purposefully to where America was standing, "Because I…" He took a deep breath, "I love you. I really do, America. I know that I never say it, but-"

America smiled and wrapped his arms around England's chest, pulling him into a hug, "It's okay; neither of us do, but I know it."

"Do you?" England asked.

"Do I what?" America replied, loosening his grip so that he could look at England.

"Do you really know?"

"Of course," America said, smiling "You told me back in the forties, and a hero never doubts his princess."

England scowled, "I _am _doing this for your sake, but don't call me a princess or your face will match your flag."

America laughed, "Good to know you're still in there, buddy."

England rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upwards for a moment. He gently pushed on America's chest, making it obvious that he wanted him on the bed. America carefully lay down, trying desperately not to mess up the petals too much since they were probably a bitch to get evenly like that. Still, eventually he managed to get more or less in the middle of the bed without leaving _too _big of a trail. England was on top of him within a few seconds.

America pulled the England's head down; gently forming his lips to the other man's and rubbing their tongues together in a slow dance. As the kiss went on, the older nation let himself rest more and more of his weight on America. The larger man didn't mind: he was more than strong enough to deal with the burden of an England on his chest.

When the kiss broke apart, the two of them just looked at each other. England had the sweetest little smile on his face, and even though his eyes were half-lidded, they were still shining with love. America, as usual, was the one to break the silence.

"You're beautiful," he said.

England blushed and America smiled back, well aware that that was as close as he was getting to a 'thank you' or a returned compliment.

"Whatever," the Brit finally said, "would you mind putting your hands above your head and holding onto the slats in the headboard?"

"You're tying me up tonight?" America asked, "Seems kind of against to the massive amount of Hollywood mood ya got here."

"Belt up," England said, pulling a length of red chord from under the pillow and going to work on America's wrists.

The younger man relaxed, being more used to being tied to England's headboard than he'd like to admit. Every two seconds it seemed like his partner would ask if it was alright, if the rope was too tight or too loose or if the position was going to make America sore. Every time, America would answer that no, it was okay and that England knew full well how to bind someone properly and could probably do this while they were both asleep. Once he quipped that if he didn't hurry up they might be and England smacked him for it. For some reason, probably as punishment for making fun of him, England insisted on lashing his ankles to the footboard too.

"Alright," America said, as England tied the final knot "I ain't gonna get out of this. Let's get started," He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No," England said, turning around and sitting on his lover's thighs.

"What do you mean 'no'?" America demanded, "You're just gonna leave me like this?"

"Now, that's not what I said. I said that I'm not going to copulate with you yet."

"Then what are you going to do?" America asked, ignoring that England had used the least sexy word for sex ever and that he was more than a little bit peeved that he wasn't going to get any right away and choosing instead to be excited.

Instead of answering his question, England placed his hand on America's cheek, "You have no idea how lovely you are, do you?" He asked, "I know that you like to say that you're the sexiest man alive, but you don't really think that."

"S-so?" America asked, blushing and looking away, "Aren't you the one who always says I could use some humility?"

"I am, but you truly are quite fit and I want to enjoy the fact that I have you for myself." He very slowly started to let his eyes trail down America's body, taking in every minute detail. America blushed and started to squirm. It felt like England was appraising him like a horse he was thinking of buying.

"S-stop it," He said.

England's eyes flashed up to America's, "You don't like this?"

"I-I just feel awkward when you're staring at me like that. I don't want you to look."

"Why not?" England asked, "You love to be the only thing that people are paying attention to."

"Yeah, but still," he started to wiggle, "I don't like being all exposed."

"That's a shame," England said, "I was enjoying the view."

America tried to at least close his legs, but it was impossible with the ties around his ankles and the man on his thighs.

"It's alright. If you want me to stop, I'll stop." He leaned down and nuzzled America, "Besides, I don't have to look to appreciate how lovely you are."

"I still don't quite know about this, England…"

England gently hushed him and soothingly brushed his fingers along America's cheek.

"Don't worry, love," he said, "I'll make sure that you enjoy this too."

And with that he claimed America's lips once again. He was still being gentile, but there was a little bit more force than before. Maybe he was a little bit surer of this now that he had stated his intentions and his lover was tied up. That made one of them. America couldn't help but feel awkward even as England pulled away and gave him a reassuring smile.

England began to play with his hair, wrapping some of it around his fingers and massaging the scalp. America couldn't help but let out a contented sigh and relax. England knew that he couldn't resist it when he teased his head like that. It was a little something that they had both learned when England didn't believe America when he said Nantucket was nothing more than a particularly stubborn chunk of hair.

Hands still rubbing America's skull, England dipped down to kiss at America's forehead and nibble his ears. The younger blond let out a yelp when England's teeth grazed a spot behind his ear.

"What was that?" England asked.

"Nothing," America said, feeling blood rush to his face along with… other places.

The younger man could feel England's smirk against his skin, "You liked it when I bit you here, didn't you?"

He nipped sharply at the small area. America didn't yelp this time, but he did let out a ragged exhale and shivered.

England let out a little laugh, "I'll remember that for later."

"_England," _America whined, "Don't tease me, man."

"I'm not teasing, I'm exploring," England said.

"Sure," America said, rolling his eyes.

England nipped the spot again in a (successful) attempt to shut him up before moving down to his collarbone. He didn't bite at it, but started to suck and lick along the entire length, starting at one shoulder and heading towards the other. Dear Lord, England was better with his mouth than America had ever known. He was switching between forcing him down with the wide wet presses from his tongue and pulling him up with the hot noisy suction of his mouth. Sometimes he would manage to do both at the same time for a sensation that was contradictory but felt so good. America could barely breathe as it was, but then England's hands left his hair and traveled downwards to caress his pecs, fingernails occasionally biting into his nipples and sending shocks down his spine all the way to his groin. America let out a scream when England finally got to the space right above his sternum.

"You like that, huh?" England asked, looking up at America.

"Sh-shut up." America said, "Just keep moving."

What was wrong with him? He'd made a lot of noise before, but he'd never screamed. It must be the candlelight, he decided. The candlelight made everything more erotic, and then there were also the soft rose petals beneath him and music all around that turned him on even more. Yeah, that was it. Nothing about being tied up, or about England taking it so slowly and lavishing him with attention. It was all the room's fault. And he totally still wanted to just get it on. Yeah

"Getting eager, are we?" The older man teased.

"'S not my fault that you're messing with me like that," America muttered.

"It's okay, lad," England said, sliding his hands down America's sides to rest at his hips.

As the fingers trailed over his skin America shivered and let out a snort of laughter. England's eyes flashed up to meet his own, and America tried to look casual. Apparently he had tried to hard, because England's confused expression morphed into a sadistic smirk.

"What's this?" He asked, sliding his hands back up.

The younger man shivered again and actually laughed. "It's nothing. Nothing at all. Just, um, keep doing what you were doing."

"Alright," England said, but the smirk didn't leave.

He placed his hands on America's waist and started moving his fingers in circles, barely brushing the skin. The larger nation couldn't help but start to squirm.

"H- hey, stop it!"

"What? You said to keep doing what I was doing, and I was lavishing you with attention. I still am."

"No. You were rubbing and kissing and-" England grabbed at his side and he had to clench his jaw so as not to giggle, "-stuff like that."

"And what am I doing now?" England asked.

"Now you're- you're- Aaah!" America let out a cry as England nuzzled his belly.

"You're ticklish." England said against his skin.

"N-not at all."

"Oh, yes you are," His fingers raced up and down America's stomach and the younger man let out a cry and a series of laughs. The older man looked up so that he could watch his lover shriek.

"Okay, Okay, I am," America conceded, "So what?" He looked down at England with an expression that dared him to make something of it.

"Nothing, but I'll remember this," He gave a series of small, innocent kisses to a spot just below America's belly button.

For some reason, those quick little touches were beyond arousing. It was like every little peck was accompanied by a stroke of his cock. It felt good beyond belief. Even though England's lips were chapped, they were still soft and they formed against America's stomach every bit as well as they had formed against his lips. He could feel England's smile, reassuring him and telling him that his lover was enjoying giving the attention just as much as he did getting it. The blond began to wiggle again, but now it was in the good way. He wanted more of England. He didn't know in what way, he just wanted more, and told him so. England just laughed against his skin and America let out a keening noise and let his eyes slide closed. His cock hadn't been touched yet but he was close, so very close.

The smaller nation's hands truly began rubbing now, applying enough force to be arousing and not annoying. However, the younger man couldn't help but wonder if England wasn't still teasing him. America knew full well that in spite of his finest efforts, he could never get rid of the small layer of fat that covered his entire belly. England had sworn repeatedly that he didn't really mean it when he called America fat and asserted that no country truly dedicated to their job had the time to maintain a six pack anyway. Still, it seemed as though right now he was focusing on places where the fat was thicker and America's belly was even more yielding.

The younger nation looked back down at England to tell him off. However, when he saw the look on his face, he couldn't say a thing. America knew that he had been smiling, but he didn't know how loving and tender the expression was. He didn't know the way that England's eyes were following his hands and looking at the pudgier spots as though they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He didn't know how damn sexy England looked when he was acting upon love and adoration that seemed to all but consume him.

America threw his head back and swallowed. It was him that was doing this to England, no one else. The Brit had just told him that he loved him, but those words didn't reveal nearly as much as the look on his face. It was too perfect, too wonderful to even look at. And yet, he opened his eyes again and just stared down at England.

The older man seemed to feel America's eyes on him, because he looked up and smiled. He apparently decided to move on to America's right hip, which they both knew was sensitive, but on the way he accidentally lightly brushed the very tip of America's arousal and the younger nation came with a loud moan. He noticed a hand come up and begin to milk him and a pair of lips descend upon that spot.

Even after America had finished, England still continued to lick and nip at that spot on his hip. His hands played across America's thighs and other hip, and occasionally they'd touch somewhere that made the younger blond let out a sigh or soft groan.

England turned around so that he could get at America's legs without bending too oddly or falling off the bed. However, that left a throbbing British cock right in front of America's mouth, which the other man gladly took.

The older nation let out a groan and looked down through his arms and legs at America. The larger county just smirked and gave a particularly hard suck.

"You're done messing around aren't you?" England asked.

America didn't answer, but he bobbed his head back before coming back up. A delightful shiver ran all the way down England's body.

"Alright, then," The Brit said, grinning down at him, "Don't expect me to go easy on you."

"_Good," _America thought, _"I don't want you to." _


	2. Chapter 2

America had been hoping for some nice sixty-nineing, but England only gave the tip of his cock a light lick before moving to nibble and kiss at his thighs.

The younger man gave England's dick a good hard suck to remind him that he'd had enough already.

England let out a loud moan, "Dear lord, be patient, will you? You're not even hard again yet."

"Yeah," America replied, letting England slip out of his mouth, "But I _will _be."

"Right. Now no more of that. Just let me work."

"But _England." _

"Hush, you idiot," England said, looking back over his shoulders, "trust me."

America humphed, but let his head fall back down on the pillows, staring at England's cock, just a few inches from his face, all big and red and begging for love. Dammit, it wasn't fair! He wanted it. And now England wasn't gonna suck him off either. England had said it was gonna be good, but now he was just-

Oh.

_Oh. _

It was then that England leaned back down and licked a path along the patch of skin that joined America's thighs to his pelvis. The younger man shuddered. He'd never considered that spot, but the way that England was slowly caressing it with his soft wet tongue… He was so close to America's most sensitive spots, but the fact that he wasn't quite there was hotter than if he actually had been. America felt his cock beginning to stir again. England took one hand and began gently massaging America's length, slowly coaxing it back to full hardness.

After a few blissful moments, the older nation left the crease he had previously been tracing and glided across America's ass. The hand that had been on America's cock slid down to spread his cheeks. The larger man obligingly lifted his hips as much as he could with the bindings to allow England better access. He knew what was coming. England would slide one finger, covered in lube from heaven knows where, inside even though America had already stretched himself well enough that England could just thrust in if he wanted to.

However, it wasn't one of the Brit's bony fingers that slid into him. Instead, it was something soft, wet, and _twitchy. _America was about to demand what England had put inside of him, when whatever-it-was started to caress his walls with practiced strokes. Not quite believing it, he pulled himself up to look down his body. Indeed, England's entire head was hidden between America's legs. The intrusion went deeper, until America could feel a row of teeth pressing around his entrance, stopping England from going any further.

America was already red, but he felt himself blush harder. He and England had been messing around for years, but he didn't think that the older man had ever rimmed him before.

He couldn't help but fall back yet again, blown away by England's ministrations. It took all he had to keep breathing. England was working his insides in a way that was just _awesome. _His tongue was far warmer than his fingers ever were, more talented than his cock, and wetter and gentler than either. America wondered if he wouldn't come from just that.

It wasn't fair. England was driving him crazy, and America couldn't give anything back. He was supposed to be the hero! He was supposed to suffer for his lover! And yet, there England was, kneeling above him and showering him with affections without America being able to return them. He had to tell his lover, in all romantic exactness, that idea and how he wanted to please him.

"England," America said, "Please, I wanna suck your cock."

Meh, close enough.

The smaller nation looked between their bodies at him in an expression that might have been tired amusement were it not for the way that his eyes were dark with lust and not bleary with exhaustion, "Do you really?" He asked.

"Yeah. Now come on, gimmie."

England chuckled and lowered his hips in silent agreement. America reached up and pulled the throbbing length into his mouth. Oh, that was much better: being able to play a full part in sex. Not to mention that he could enjoy the dark, musky smell that came with having England's balls at his nose.

The older man stopped rimming his partner and went for his cock instead. America couldn't decide if he was really happy or really upset about this and found himself wishing that England had two mouths.

Okay, not really, because that would be gross, but you get the point.

Both of them felt their orgasms coming all too soon. America was moaning into England's arousal half the time he was supposed to be sucking and England wasn't doing much better. However, the good news was that the vibrations coming from England's throat that passed up his shaft were more than good enough, and with a loud groan he spilled into England's mouth, the other finishing a few moments later.

After simply laying with his face against America's hip for a few minutes, England got back onto his hands and knees and began to untie America from the footboard.

"We done, babe?"

"Not if you can keep going," England said, smirking back at America.

"Awesome," America said, grinning.

"Ready yourself, then."

As soon as he was done with the ropes and thrown them somewhere in the corner of the room, he turned around and kissed America passionately. The younger man let out a soft moan. It was always so weird to taste both of them in kisses, but it was worth it for the loving way that England would caress his mouth while shaking off the last of his post-orgasm haze.

"Wrists next?" America suggested when they came apart.

"Now who said anything about that?" England asked.

He slid his hands under America and flipped him onto his stomach.

"Can you pull yourself onto your knees, America?" He asked.

America laughed, "Doggie style on rose petals? Only you'd think of that, you old perv," But he did as his lover requested.

"No, it allows me a chance to admire that lovely back of yours," He said, running a hand down America's spine. The younger blond shivered.

"Sounds good to me."

"I thought so." England kneeled behind America, leaning forward to drape himself over his lover.

The larger nation quietly rejoiced in the warmth of England's toned chest against his back. It felt so much nicer than the blankets, even if they _were_ covered in petals. He tilted his head to the side so that he could rub cheeks with the other man. England let out a sigh and reached between their bodies to slowly rub America's shoulders. He began to move his hands, carefully working out kinks that the younger nation didn't know he had. It felt good, and even when he would be pushing on something that hurt, the feeling of pleasure when England finally freed the cluster of muscle was wonderful. In spite of how tender and caring the ministrations were, America felt himself slowly starting to get hard again.

Hey! It wasn't his fault. Blame England's weight that was resting so gently on his back, the smell of his lover and fresh sex all around him, the way that those talented fingers took away pain he didn't know he had.

"Hey, England, you ready again?" He asked.

"I think so," The older nation said, leaning over and grabbing the lube from his bedside table.

America could feel England shifting behind him, most likely slicking himself up. If the younger man wasn't hard before, he certainly was now, hearing his lover panting in his ear. A minute or so later, he felt a finger nudging at his entrance. He spread his legs, allowing England better access, and within a few moments another finger joined the first. They began to rub him, just as England's tongue had before. Now England's fingers' real skill was coming out, the touches driving America wilder than the massage ever could have.

The fingers left, and the younger man couldn't help but whimper at the loss, but he was more than compensated when England finally entered him. He let out a sigh, loving the feeling of the thick, hot member filling him more perfectly than anything he'd ever known.

"Oh God, England," He whispered, elbows giving out, forcing him to lay his head on his wrists.

"Ssh, it's okay, America," England followed him down.

"It's more than okay," America said, turning and smiling at him, "Just move before your old man back gives out or something."

"Idiot," The smaller nation said fondly, beginning to slowly move his hips back and forth.

America let his eyes flutter shut. Dear lord, this felt good. This was what he had been missing all those weeks he and England were apart. Yeah, the foreplay was nice, but _this _was what he wanted. He wanted to be connected to England again, joined intimately both physically and spiritually. England was above him and inside of him, but his presence was beside him and beneath him as well.

True, whenever a nation stepped onto another's land, they felt their presence, but this was different. Part of it was because this was England's room in his favorite house. An integral part of England had seeped into the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and everything else in the room. Even when the Brit would leave him here to go run errands, America could still feel him, as if he had just stepped out to take a piss. But beyond that, even, it was the bond forged during sex. It was the feeling of being part of the other person, of losing your own identity and surrendering to each other until you're better than what you could be apart. It wasn't the carnal pleasure he missed; that was easy enough to satisfy. It was being a part of England.

His brain tried to go down the route of wondering if it wasn't because that was how he was born, but he wasn't quite comfortable with assigning sexuality to the England who had slept in the same bed as him in the days when he was barely up to his big brother's thigh. So, instead, he focused on how a thoroughly modern England was riding him, rubbing his sides and thrusting into him with all he had.

America felt England's thrusts start to lose their rhythm, taking longer or shorter or else going in different depths.

"America," the smaller nation asked, "Will you be able to go again, or is this it for you?"

"Huh?"

"Will you be up for a round four?"

America perked up, pushing himself back up onto his hands, "Are you offering?"

England floundered for a moment when he almost lost his balance from the sudden movement, but he laughed about it and said, "I am." He let out a groan, "I'm close, but I'm not done with you."

"What else-" He let out a moan, "What else you got for me?" America asked.

"Nothing much," England said, "Just a little something sweet. I know how you adore your desserts."

Although England was probably using a metaphor, America imagined the older man covered in chocolate and whipped cream, begging for his lover to clean it all off. Even though America knew it wasn't good to fantasize about England when the real England was about to come in his ass, it was still enough to send him over the edge and make him jizz all over the sheets. England managed to peak just before America's legs gave out and they fell onto the bed.

It took longer for them to start to move again this time. Even though they were both strong, they were still held back by the same basic biology that applied to their people. America thought this was a load of bullshit, but he couldn't really argue too much since there was no real reason that they should be able to have sex _anyhow _because baby nations just kind of showed up.

However, eventually England pulled his arms from around America's chest, where they had naturally grasped when they fell. He started working on the other man's wrists, loosening the knots that held him to the headboard. Once America was free was free, England pulled himself up to kiss at where the ropes had been, although there were no angry marks.

"Oh babe, I love ya," America said.

"I… I love you too, America," England said.

America rolled over, pulling England against his chest. He buried his head in his lover's hair and inhaled deeply, smelling his old-person boring shampoo and the tea and the ocean and the forest and everything else that made up England's smell.

"You're so strange," England mused.

"Nah, you're just not creative."

The older nation looked up at him and smiled serenely.

For a few moments, America just looked at him. God he was pretty. Yeah, America knew he was a studmuffin, but times like this England was most definitely as attractive as he was. The candlelight coaxed color into his pale skin, making the shapes of his lightly toned muscle all the more visible. His hair was messier than usual from sex, and some of it was sticking to his forehead in a way that was surprisingly hot. His emerald eyes were shimmering, the more orangey light adding to the already intense look of joy. And then there was his smile. It was so small, so sweet. America loved it when England smiled, when he _really _smiled. Not when he was grinning with malice or smirking, but those times when he would express happiness so pure that mountain springs went crying to their mothers. Even if he was talking to his stupid imaginary friends and ignoring everyone else, England's smile light up America's world.

The younger nation didn't say anything, knowing that any comment might easily make England frown and start complaining about something. Instead, he just basked in the glow of his orgasm and England's smile.

"You're lovely," The older man finally said.

"So are you."

England blushed, "Idiot."

America smiled. He wouldn't argue. It was easy to tell that the older man meant "Thank you."

Soon, the cuddling turned to kissing, the kissing turned to making out, and the making out turned to each humping the other's legs.

"This is stupid," England said.

America laughed, "You're right."

"I'm always right, idiot," The two just stared at each other for a moment, "So what do you want?" England asked, "It's still your night, after all."

"Oh yeah, that's right," America looked away.

"So what is it you'd like?" England threaded their fingers together, "It can be anything."

"I'm thinking."

"Alright," England said, reaching over and petting a rose petal distractedly.

America looked back and he knew, "I want you to make love to me."

"Yes, but how?"

"Just love me. I know that I'm usually into kind of weird stuff too, but I kind of just want some vanilla."

"Sounds good to me," He let go of America's hands to get into the best position for making love, "Erm, could I have your legs?"

"Oh, right…" America hooked his knees over England's shoulders, bending himself to give his lover the best angle.

"You probably don't need to be stretched again, right?"

"Nah," America said, "I'm good."

"Lovely," England said, and he entered his lover again.

America felt a rush as he was filled. England didn't wait for him to adjust and just began to thrust. America wondered how it was possible that England didn't start getting sloppy once they'd gone as many rounds as they did. But the older man was still going strong, moving at just the right angle to rub him properly every time.

The larger man shuddered and wrapped his arms around England's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Their tongues danced back and forth in a distinctly different rhythm than what their lower halves were doing, and America marveled at how England could do both so perfectly at the same time.

If there was only one thing that America could say about England in bed, it was that he was really, really good at it. It was natural, of course; England had been the largest empire in the world and there were very few people that he hadn't topped the hell out of. America felt insignificant sometimes when compared to all of the older, more experienced countries England had slept with. The older nation always said that he shouldn't worry, that he had never loved any of those countries like he loved America, but that only made him wonder why he was so good at the tender stuff, and they were back at square one.

When they came apart from their kiss, America looked up at England. The older man's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

"Look at me," he said.

England opened those big, beautiful green eyes and looked down confusedly.

"You're so hot," America said, bringing a hand up to cup his face.

England groaned, "Don't do that kind of stuff while we're like this. You'll make me come."

"Isn't that the idea?" America asked, bringing his other hand up to thread through England's hair.

"Belt up. Not now."

"It's okay," America said. He took England's hand in his and brought it down to his cock, "It's not gonna take me long either."

England smiled, "You've no idea how much I love you."

"I love you too, old man."

"Foolish child."

"Delusional sissy."

"Spoiled bastard."

"Pervert."

"Idiot."

But there was no bite to their words. It was simply a game. They both took comfort in their friendly arguments. It was part of what let America know that he was with England, that he was with the man who meant the world to him and vice versa.

"God, America," England groaned, "I can't hold out much longer."

America laughed, "Me neither."

"We're not going to count down together or anything cheesy as that alright? I feel clichéd enough just making love to you on a bed of roses."

"We don't have to," America said, "I know."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I won't say anything," a ragged sigh, "-anything, then."

"Sounds good."

England rolled his eyes.

America was right, of course. He timed it so that both of them released at the same time, and England just laughed at him and pulled out to lie on his sticky, sweaty stomach.

"Lord, I'm tired," He said.

"I know what you mean," America said.

"Yes, but we still have to clean up this mess."

"Nah. Let's leave it."

"It'll be horrendous tomorrow."

"So?"

"You never think in the long term, do you?"

"Never," America said, smiling and pulling the sheets over them, "'Cause it lets me enjoy every second I have with you."

England blushed bright red, but he probably couldn't come up with anything that sweet, so he just put his head against America's chest and went to sleep.


End file.
